Saturday, October 27, 2012

By the following
morning, the blizzard had subsided into a dim, grey morning. Fen left the
hunting lodge and found that, while the snow on the ground was deep, the Skaal
had risen early to go about their business. Now she could see the intricate
wooden carvings on the sides of the houses, the well where tightly-bundled children
collected water for their families, the curls of smoke that rose from chimneys
and up into the grim sky. People were not lingering outside long save for the
guards, men that wore Nordic armour and patrolled the village borders with one
hand always on the pommel of their blades. They glanced up at Fen as she
passed, but remained silent, though she could feel their gazes on her back as
she descended the hill atop which the village was perched.

Fen had been
exhausted, both physically and emotionally, by the time she returned to the
hunting lodge the previous night, though she found that it was impossible to
fall asleep on the bedroll that had been provided for her in one of the
upstairs rooms. She had rummaged in her bag until she drew out The Story of Aevar Stone-Singer, and
curling up beside the low-melting candle had begun to read:

"Sit quietly, Child, and listen, for the story I tell you is
a story of the ages."

"But what is it, Grandfather? Is it a story of heroes and
beasts?"

The Grandfather looked patiently at the Child. He was growing into
a fine boy. Soon he would see the value in the stories, the lessons that were
taught to each generation.

"Just listen, Child. Let the story take root in your
heart."

In a time before now, long before now, when the Skaal were new,
there was peace in the Land. The sun was hot and the crops grew long, and the
people were happy in the peace that the All-Maker provided. But, the Skaal grew
complacent and lazy, and they took for granted the Lands and all the gifts the
All-Maker had given them. They forgot, or chose not to remember, that the
Adversary is always watching, and that he delights in tormenting the All-Maker
and his chosen people. And so it was that the Adversary came to be among the
Skaal.

The Adversary has many aspects. He appears in the unholy beasts
and the incurable plague. At the End of Seasons, we will know him as Thartaag
the World-Devourer. But in these ages he came to be known as the Greedy Man.

The Greedy Man (that is what we call him, for to speak his name
would certainly bring ruin on the people) lived among the Skaal for many
months. Perhaps he was once just a man, but when the Adversary entered into
him, he became the Greedy Man, and that is how he is remembered.

It came to be one day that the powers of the Skaal left them. The
strength left the arms of the warriors, and the shaman could no longer summon
the beasts to their side. The elders thought that surely the All-Maker was
displeased, and some suggested that the All-Maker had left them forever. It was
then that the Greedy Man appeared to them and spoke.

"You of the Skaal have grown fat and lazy. I have stolen the
gifts of your All-Maker. I have stolen the Oceans, so you will forever know
thirst. I have stolen the Lands and the Trees and the Sun, so your crops will
wither and die. I have stolen the Beasts, so you will go hungry. And I have
stolen the Winds, so you will live without the Spirit of the All-Maker.

"And until one of you can reclaim these gifts, the Skaal will
live in misery and despair. For I am the Greedy Man, and that is my
nature."

And the Greedy Man disappeared.

The members of the Skaal spoke for many days and nights. They knew
that one of them must retrieve the Gifts of the All-Maker, but they could not
decide who it should be.

"I cannot go," said the Elder, "for I us must stay
to lead the Skaal, and tell our people what is the law."

"I cannot go," said the Warrior, "for I must
protect the Skaal. My sword will be needed in case the Greedy Man
reappears."

"I cannot go," said the Shaman, "for the people
need my wisdom. I must read the portents and offer my knowledge."

It was then that a young man called Aevar lifted his voice. He was
strong of arm, and fleet of foot, though he was not yet a warrior of the Skaal.

"I will go," said Aevar, and the Skaal laughed.

"Hear me out," the boy continued. "I am not yet a
warrior, so my sword will not be needed. I cannot read the portents, so the
people will not seek my counsel. And I am young, and not yet wise in the ways
of the law. I will retrieve the Gifts of the All-Maker from the Greedy Man. If
I cannot, I will not be missed."

The Skaal thought on this briefly, and decided to let Aevar go. He
left the village the next morning to retrieve the Gifts.

Aevar first set out to retrieve the Gift of Water, so he traveled
to the Water Stone. It was there the All-Maker first spoke to him.

"Travel west to the sea and follow the Swimmer to the Waters
of Life."

So Aevar walked to the edge of the ocean, and there was the
Swimmer, a Black Horker, sent from the All-Maker. The Swimmer dove into the
waters and swam very far, and far again. Aevar was strong, though, and he swam
hard. He followed the Swimmer to a cave, swimming deeper and deeper, his lungs
burning and his limbs exhausted. At last, he found a pocket of air, and there,
in the dark, he found the Waters of Life. Gathering his strength, he took the
Waters and swam back to the shore.

Upon returning to the Water Stone, the All-Maker spoke. "You
have returned the Gift of Water to the Skaal. The Oceans again will bear fruit,
and their thirst will be quenched."

Aevar then traveled to the Earth Stone, and there the All-Maker
spoke to him again.

"Enter the Cave of the Hidden Music, and hear the Song of the
Earth."

So Aevar traveled north and east to the Cave of the Hidden Music.
He found himself in a large cavern, where the rocks hung from the ceiling and
grew from the ground itself. He listened there, and heard the Song of the
Earth, but it was faint. Grabbing up his mace, he struck the rocks of the floor
in time with the Song, and the Song grew louder, until it filled the cavern and
his heart. Then he returned to the Earth Stone.

"The Gift of the Earth is with the Skaal again," said
the All-Maker. "The Lands are rich again, and will bear life."

Aevar was tired, as the Sun burned him, the trees offered no
shade, and there was no wind to cool him. Still, he traveled on to the Beast
Rock, and the All-Maker spoke.

"Find the Good Beast and ease his suffering."

Aevar traveled through the woods of the Isinfier for many hours until
he heard the cries of a bear from over a hill. As he crested a hill, he saw the
bear, a Falmer's arrow piercing its neck. He checked the woods for the Falmer
(for that is what they were, though some say they are not), and finding none,
approached the beast. He spoke soothing words and came upon it slowly, saying,
"Good Beast, I mean you no harm. The All-Maker has sent me to ease your
suffering."

Hearing these words, the bear ceased his struggles, and laid his
head at Aevar's feet. Aevar grasped the arrow and pulled it from the bear's
neck. Using the little nature magic he knew, Aevar tended the wound, though it
took the last bit of his strength. As the bear's wound closed, Aevar slept.

When he awoke, the bear stood over him, and the remains of a
number of the Falmer were strewn about. He knew that the Good Beast had
protected him during the night. He traveled back to Beast Rock, the bear by his
side, and the All-Maker spoke to him again.

"You have returned the Gift of the Beasts. Once again, the
Good Beasts will feed the Skaal when they are hungry, clothe them when they are
cold, and protect them in times of need."

Aevar's strength had returned, so he traveled on to the Tree
Stone, though the Good Beast did not follow him. When he arrived, the
All-Father spoke to him.

"The First Trees are gone, and must be replanted. Find the
seed and plant the First Tree."

Aevar traveled again through the Hirstaang Forest, searching for
the seeds of the First Tree, but he could find none. Then he spoke to the Tree
Spirits, the living trees. They told him that the seeds had been stolen by one
of the Falmer (for they are the servants of the Adversary), and this Falmer was
hiding them deep in the forest, so that none would ever find them.

Aevar traveled to the deepest part of the forest, and there he
found the evil Falmer, surrounded by the Lesser Tree Spirits. Aevar could see
that the Spirits were in his thrall, that he had used the magic of the Seeds
and spoken their secret name. Aevar knew he could not stand against such a force,
and that he must retrieve the seeds in secret.

Aevar reached into his pouch and drew out his flint. Gathering
leaves, he started a small fire outside the clearing where the Falmer and the
ensorcelled Spirits milled. All the Skaal know the Spirits' hatred of fires,
for the fires ravage the trees they serve. At once, the Nature of the Spirits
took hold, and they rushed to quell the flames. During the commotion, Aevar
snuck behind the Falmer and snatched the pouch of Seeds, stealing away before
the evil being knew they were gone.

When Aevar returned to the Tree Stone, he planted the tree in the
ground, and the All-Maker spoke to him.

"The Gift of Trees is restored. Once again, the Trees and
Plants will bloom and grow, and provide nourishment and shade."

Aevar was tired, for the Sun would only burn, and the Winds would
not yet cool him, but he rested briefly in the shade of the Trees. His legs
were weary and his eyes heavy, but he continued on, traveling to the Sun Stone.
Again, the All-Maker spoke.

"The gentle warmth of the Sun is stolen, so now it only
burns. Free the Sun from the Halls of Penumbra."

And so Aevar walked west, over the frozen lands until he reached
the Halls of Penumbra. The air inside was thick and heavy, and he could see no
farther than the end of his arm. Still, he felt his way along the walls, though
he heard the shuffling of feet and knew that this place held the Unholy Beasts
who would tear his flesh and eat his bones. For hours he crept along, until he
saw a faint glow far at the end of the hall.

There, from behind a sheet of perfect ice, came a glow so bright
he had to shut his eyes, lest they be forever blinded. He plucked the flaming
eye from one of the Unholy Beasts and threw it at the ice with all his might. A
small crack appeared in the ice, then grew larger. Slowly, the light crept out
between the cracks, widening them, splitting the ice wall into pieces. With a
deafening crack, the wall crumbled, and the light rushed over Aevar and through
the Halls. He heard the shrieks of the Unholy Beasts as they were blinded and
burned. He ran out of the Halls, following the light, and collapsed on the
ground outside.

When he was able to rise again, the Sun again warmed him, and he
was glad for that. He traveled back to the Sun Stone, where the All-Maker spoke
to him.

"The Gift of the Sun is the Skaal's once again. It will warm
them and give them light."

Aevar had one final Gift he had to recover, the Gift of the Winds,
so he traveled to the Wind Stone, far on the western coast of the island. When
he arrived, the All-Maker spoke to him, giving him his final task.

"Find the Greedy Man and release the Wind from its
captivity."

So, Aevar wandered the land in search of the Greedy Man. He looked
in the trees, but the Greedy Man did not hide there. Nor did he hide near the
oceans, or the deep caves, and the beasts had not seen him in the dark forests.
Finally, Aevar came to a crooked house, and he knew that here he would find the
Greedy Man.

"Who are you," shouted the Greedy Man, "that you
would come to my house?"

"I am Aevar of the Skaal," said Aevar. "I am not
warrior, shaman, or elder. If I do not return, I will not be missed. But I have
returned the Oceans and the Earth, the Trees, the Beasts, and the Sun, and I
will return the Winds to my people, that we may feel the spirit of the
All-Maker in our souls again."

And with that, he grabbed up the Greedy Man's bag and tore it
open. The Winds rushed out with gale force, sweeping the Greedy Man up and
carrying him off, far from the island. Aevar breathed in the Winds and was
glad. He walked back to the Wind Stone, where the All-Maker spoke to him a
final time.

"You have done well, Aevar. You, the least of the Skaal, have
returned my gifts to them. The Greedy Man is gone for now, and should not
trouble your people again in your lifetime. Your All-Maker is pleased. Go now,
and live according to your Nature."

And Aevar started back to the Skaal village.

"And then what happened, Grandfather?"

"What do you mean, Child? He went home."

"No. When he returned to the village," the Child
continued. "Was he made a warrior? Or taught the ways of the shaman? Did
he lead the Skaal in battle?"

"I do not know. That is where the story ends," said the
Grandfather.

"But that is not an ending! That is not how stories end!"

The old man laughed and got up from his chair.

"Is it not?"

It was far more lighthearted than the tales Fen had been told as a
girl, finishing happily with the enemy successfully defeated. Perhaps that’s why the Nords are so much
more cheerful than the Dunmer, Fen thought sardonically as she folded the
story and slipped it into her bag. She wasn’t sure what to expect, therefore,
as she began to traverse through the snows and trees of Solstheim the following
morning, following the poorly drawn map as best she could for guidance.

It snowed on and off as Fen walked, the
wind occasionally stirring the trees and sending snow drifting off its branches
in elegant white fans. The air was just as icy as it had been yesterday, and
Fen felt grateful for the brooch from Effe-Tei – she was still quite cold, but
she shuddered to think of what the air would feel like without its enchantment.

The map Wind-Eye had
given her was as vague as it could possibly be in direction, showing rivers,
mountains, and nothing else save the standing stones. The one nearest to the
Skaal village was the Wind Stone, beneath the junction of the Islid and the Harstrad
Rivers. She studied the map as she walked through the strange silence that the
gently falling snow created, occasionally glancing up to see how close she was
to the river until a loud screech interrupted her.

Fen looked up
abruptly in time to see the strangest sight she had witnessed on Solstheim yet.
Riding toward her on the back of what looked like a wild boar was a man, though
he looked like, if standing he would only come up to Fen’s knee. His skin was a
frosty blue, more vivid than that of Dunmer skin, and his beady eyes were
half-hidden beneath a spiked cap. He carried a lance the size of Fen’s forearm
in one hand, and in the other clutched the reins with which he controlled the
boar that was bearing down on her, snorting wildly as spittle flew from its
snout in all directions.

For a moment, Fen was
too surprised to do anything. Then the odd pair was upon her, and it one swift
move the tiny man had swung his lance at Fen’s leg and sent her stumbling
backward, the map dropping into the snow. She quickly regained her footing and
used God’s Fire on the creature – it stumbled backward with a squeal,
surprised, and flew off the boar’s back. Fen drew Trueflame from her belt and
swiftly sliced at the boar, killing it with a pained cry. The tiny man got to
his feet and lurched toward Fen again, and she managed to subdue it with two
strikes from Trueflame.

She slid the blade
back into its sheath, kneeling down in the blood-spotted snow to study the
strange humanoid. He had an oiled black beard around his mouth, and Fen could
see pointed, dirty teeth. His armour looked like it was hammered from some sort
of hide, and his lance was made of the same leathery material. Fen had no
interest in the minute leathers, so she left the strange creatures in the snow
and continued on her way, making a mental note to ask Wind-Eye about them when
she returned to the Skaal village.

She encountered
several more of the strange men as she began to wander the land around the
rivers, though never in groups of more than two. Usually there was only a brief
reprieve after one of these confrontations before she was met with a wolf or
bear or fryse hag or berserker. These frequent attacks coupled with the bitter
cold and on-and-off snowfalls left Fen feeling exhausted and wind-beaten by the
time her locket read noon. She found a small cluster of rocks beside one of the
rivers that would block most of the wind and sat down huddled against them,
pulling her hood low over her face and her cloak tightly around her.

Fen didn’t know how
much time passed as she sat there, but soon her vision had started to blur. She
felt numb from the chill, and she let her eyes drift closed as she sat curled
against the tall rocks, the only sound coming from the faint trickle of the
river and the wind blowing fiercely down from the mountains to the north…

“Fen?”

Her eyes snapped open
suddenly, and she stared wildly around, her heart pounding. She was quite alone
on the rocky shore of the river. In the distance, a wolf howled.

Fen got to her feet,
clenching her hands into fists to keep them from shaking. You’re imagining things, she told herself firmly. The cold is getting to you. But she had
heard that voice say her name a thousand times. She would recognize it
anywhere. He’s dead, Fen assured
herself forcibly, picking up her bag and slinging it over her shoulder. He’s dead and dreaming about it won’t bring
him back.

She was about to head
upriver again to sweep the land for the Wind Stone when something on the
opposite shore caught her eye. A rock, standing taller than those around it,
like a weathered grey finger rising into the sky. At its base, Fen could see a
swirling design carved in an elegant circle. She picked up her cloak and the
hem of her robe and splashed through the icy shallows to the other side. This
had to be the Wind Stone.

“And it was right
here,” Fen muttered to herself, reaching out a gloved hand to touch the swirl.
At once, the carving came to life, writhing and twisting like wind. A sudden
breeze seemed to appear from nowhere, stinging Fen’s exposed cheeks as it
coiled around the wind stone. Writing began to form on the surface of the rock,
just above the carving, as if written by a spidery hand.

Travel south and east of the lake of ice to Glenschul’s Tomb and
free the Winds from the Greedy Man's bag.

Then, as quickly as
they had come, the words faded back into the stone and the carved wind stilled.
The breeze was gone, leaving the land strangely silent. Fen slowly let her hand
drop from the cold surface of the stone, tucking back a few hairs that had been
pulled loose from her braid. The lake of
ice, she thought, looking at the crude map again. The scout at Fort Frostmoth
had mentioned a frozen lake. There was a large oval south of the Wind stone
with tiny waves drawn in its interior. Fen straightened up and glanced around.
The riverside was deserted. She rolled up the map, tucked it into her bag, and
crossed the narrow strait of land to the Islid River, starting to follow it
south, toward the lake.

Darkness was
beginning to fall by the time she reached Lake Fjalding, an ice-crusted circle
of water near the eastern coast of Solstheim. The cold seemed to leak out of
the lake and soak into the air around it. Fen circled around the edge of the
lake and started moving southeast of it. It gave her a strange feeling, and she
felt relieved to be away from it.

She followed a high
ridge and a narrow footpath away from Lake Fjalding, encountering a few more of
the men-creatures along the way. Before long, she had arrived at what appeared
to be the entrance to some sort of crypt, crafted from black stones piled atop
one another and carved with strange Nordic runes and symbols. Fen pushed open
the round door, expecting to find the usual tomb inhabited by animated
skeletons and Daedra inside.

She was met with
quite a different adversary.

The creature that
greeted her was hunched over and bow-legged, its skin leathery black and
clothed in tattered rags. It was an emaciated sort of human-shape, a few wisps
of dead white hair still left on its scalp, its eyes round and glowing scarlet
in the darkness of the tomb. It gave off a terrible scent of death, screeching
with an inhuman sound, and it swiped at Fen with talon-like hands, its rotted
skin swinging, lifeless, from its half-exposed bones.

Fen quickly deflected
its blow with Trueflame, stepping backward to balance herself. The creature
hobbled toward her, its jaw hanging open as if broken and revealing its rotting
black teeth. Fen cut it down quickly enough with Trueflame, though soon more of
the undead had appeared, growling as they attempted to pull her down.

When Trueflame had
sliced the last of the creatures away, the tomb rang with an eerie silence. Fen
kept the blade out for light, holding it aloft as she moved through the dank
corridors lit by sputtering candles melted onto rocks.

The crypt was small,
and at the back of it Fen found a low-ceilinged room where bodies lay in niches
along the walls, entombed in a strange ice that seemed to glitter with an
unnatural aura. Fen approached one of the bodies, sheathing Trueflame. The Nord
inside had a face that was perfectly preserved, as if he was merely asleep
within the strange substance. Unnerved by the body, Fen backed away, glancing
around the cavern. At the very back, an enormous burlap sack sat before one of
the ice-covered bodies. Fen moved toward it curiously. The contents of the bag
seemed to be moving inside it, as if they were restless to be free. Fen
remembered the story, in which Aevar had literally tore open the bag and set
free the winds. I was expecting something
a bit more metaphorical,she
thought, taking hold of the tie that sealed the bag and pulling it free.

Before
Fen knew what was happening, she was on her back on the floor of the cavern,
all the breath knocked out of her, with her cloak and her hair and the skirts
of her robe all flying around her as a violent wind tore through the cavern,
howling terribly. Fen ducked her head as the gale flew through the tomb, then,
in an instant, it had stopped. Fen slowly raised her head.

The
cavern was dark – the wind had put out the low candles around the walls,
leaving it nearly pitch black. She pulled Trueflame from its sheath for light
and saw that the burlap sack lay deflated and empty upon the tomb’s floor. So the Nords can fill a bag with wind,she thought, pushing her
hair out of her face. She kept Trueflame aloft as she navigated her way out of
the cavern and into the freezing air. It was dark, and had begun to snow again.
Fen started the long trek north back to the Wind Stone, cutting down the
strange men-creatures that attempted to deter her as she went. The sun’s
absence made it even colder, and her breath rose in clouds as she traversed the
frigid landscape.

She
found the Wind Stone where it had been, standing tall and elegant on the coast
of the river. She raised her hand to it as she approached and pressed her
gloved fingers to the freezing rock. The carved wind began to move again, and
though no words appeared on its surface, it began to emanate a strange, bluish
light, and shimmers of energy rose from the snow at its base and swirled around
it, vanishing from sight as they passed the curved top of the stone. The wind
had been restored to the land.

It
was dark, and the snow was beginning to pick up, so Fen went a few metres away
to build her tent for the night against a cluster of rocks not far from the
Wind Stone. Being near the rock made her feel strangely safe.

Fen
started the fire inside the tent and stripped off her snow-soaked clothes, her
body aching. She piled meat and comberry leaves into the cookpot to stew, then
pulled a small square mirror from her pack, sitting back on a round cushion to
comb out her tangled, damp hair. She set the comb down when she had finished,
staring into the glass. Her face was drawn and almost pallid looking, and her
eyes seemed too large for her head, ringed with dark circles. The thin white scar
where Bolvyn Venim’s ebony gauntlet had once struck her face stood out starkly
on her left cheek, stretching from her cheekbone to the corner of her mouth.

Fen
stared into the reflection of her eyes, so dim and exhausted-looking. She was
barely twenty-eight, still so young for a Dunmer, yet she felt as if she had
aged a thousand years. She lowered the mirror slowly. I once hoped that I would come out of all this just a bit bruised and
scratched, a bit wiser and sadder for it all, she thought, staring out at
the thin blue outline of the glowing Wind Stone through the cloth of her tent. How wrong I was.